


Mortality & Morality (Act 1)

by Ren_tal_Demon



Series: Mortality & Morality [1]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, Demons, Everyone is Dead, Everyone is a demon, Idiots, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, SO MUCH SARCASM, Sarcasm, Serial Killers, The Author is So Done, The commentary is just the author speaking, do you read these, imagine the main character is stupid, is there fluff?, stick with me here, unless they aren’t, we don’t know, with the characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren_tal_Demon/pseuds/Ren_tal_Demon
Summary: Great. Just great. Now we have ANOTHER serial killer story, and it has demons too? How much of an idiot can this author be?
Series: Mortality & Morality [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074233
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

This book hopefully lands in your hands for intrigued enjoyment. 

The first act, structured around the main event, leads you through death, resurrection, and increasingly more death. 

The second, though still in progress and increasingly more difficult to write, follows a mistaken teen as he dies halfway, destroys stuff, and befriends more corpses than anything alive. It is the longest act.

The third concludes the trio of stories. I will not delve into it, as the holes of the story are not to be revealed by the writer. 

I bid you adieu.

-Warnings for the rest of the story: disgusting imagery (such as blood or descriptions of being extremely sick), killing, demons, intentional murder, the murder of innocents, death, blatant use of sarcasm, etc. Please comment if I need to add more.-


	2. Act i, Scene i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The setting for what is to come, and I hope it’s not stupidly written :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disgusting imagery (such as blood or descriptions of being extremely sick). Once again, please comment if I need to add any warnings

The door shut against its frame— closing the outside world from inside. She held a cough inside her throat, as she looked for the moon up beyond the clouds. With the ground still damp from slight drizzles earlier on, the young lady stepped —or rather stomped— to the red Camry on the driveway. 

As if it had tried to stay closed during the day to keep something out, the door of the car suctioned open with water falling from its rim. 

With one last cough— she coughed all day but something seemed to stay stuck in her throat— the lady closed the door of her car and started to drive.

Caution drifted away in the wind, and a subtle edge of the day grew close. The edge of a line of trees grew closer as well but not as harshly. 

All she woke up to do that morning was head to any shop or store for a caffeinated drink that was either coffee, coffee, or coffee. She was tired every time she visited him. But this time, she had been tired the day before as well and every day before that. 

She downed the coffee as soon as she'd received it. 

Her chopped liver-like stomach screwed itself over, and again, as she stepped out of the car. She felt sick and needed to pee. 

This started to become a major inconvenience after all. 

The tombstone was visited regularly, as there was always an ornamental piece of flowers, but the flowers laying at the headstone were half past dead. 

Sitting down to set down a reluctant handful of poppies, her arm struck out and dropped the flowers without warning. Twisting it violently back to herself she grasped her throat. Her other arm wrapped her stomach. 

Was there a bug going around? None that she could remember. Either way, she was sick. 

Vulgar bile rose up and was coughed onto the grass to her side. The deep swelling in her throat and churning in her stomach continued. Jutting her jaw closed in attempt to keep her organs in their natural place— and not on the lawn— failed. 

Oh— there went her coffee. 

Squirming like a slug, her stomach thrust every ounce of food and liquid it could— out. 

This stopped when she collapsed at the sight of blood on the ground. A fumble and a physical sigh from her body shutting down. 

Something had been wrong. It was not the tombstone or the moon, but it'd only been stuck in her throat.

The poppies fluttered and wilted in her blood, puke, soaked into the rain-pelted grass. Petals crisped and browned, and the dead body held no soul, held nothing inside to keep it from falling apart. 

The tomb under the recent death flexed and relaxed, a dark hole swallowing the body into the grime and rot below. 

As for the body already in the ground? He climbed out into the sun.


	3. Act i, Scene ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep. A demon literally digging himself into a grave, and the souls that rises because of it. Comment warnings I may need to add.

Wishes and hopes and dreams are memories of the time before birth. The want of good, of light, of creation, only comes from the place that is the source of it: love... and heaven, one could assume. 

In the context of the previous topic, where does the want of destruction and pain come from? Got the answer? Now, think, what happens with a soul buried in hell for a year? 

—

At the moment, the previous resident of the grave literally dug himself back into it. With a grievous 'goodmorrow' and a hello to hell, the corrupted being stepped through the fabric of the earth.

To clarify, he is a demon.

The victim of his trifles, only a year prior, had slept in same tomb for what felt like the worst evening nap. The ones where the world seems wrong and all clocks are definitely broken. 

She saw nothing, everything, and one thing. A subsection of the earth and the sky and everything in between. 

The digging of one corrupt soul back to the place whencesoever-he-hath-come only initiated the exchange of a soul for a soul. Both now existed equal in impurity.

She broke a nail, confused on what— where— and when she was, whilst getting out of the cemetery. She shook off some grave dirt. Walking to where her car had been, would've been, should be— was too hard to explain. She got there eventually. 

Was the ground decaying beneath her feet? Or the sky filled with sulfur? No? So that's what decay feels like while you are alive...

Her feet had only one shoe and one sock, neither on the same foot. The heel of the boot was followed by a slight "tht" of the socked foot, on and on and on until the feet stood in a driveway. Until she walked to the front window. Until she stood in the grass before the house. 

Nothing welcomed her home. A new plant, one which she knew hadn't been bought by her fares, seemed to stare from nonexistent eyes on it leaves. It was no matter if she upended the pot as she passed by. 

Something caused a twitch in her face, a blink and a furrow of eyebrows, and she opened the front door. 

There sat a man, smiles and laughter, next a woman, with child, taking comfort in her home. 

They stopped chattering, aware of an intruder, and the pregnant woman gasped in shock. 

Was deteriorating clothes not proper attire for events like this? 

Reactions didn't interfere with the thoughts of the recently resurrected—or was it reanimated? — woman standing at the door. 

They were in her home and it wasn't theirs to take. They took her home. They stole it from HER. THEY STOLE WHAT WAS RIGHTFULLY HERS.

There was nothing that belonged to her anymore. Not even her house.

How could anyone desiring a family, desiring to care for people, and wanting a home of their own take such a possession from her? How estranged from humanity were these people? 

Rage. She couldn't remember how to do anything else other than become enraged. 

Her chest felt burning and dry and the laughter from before was silent. No... it became crying. 

She had nothing now. No one. And that— the love and joy she'd seen from the couple in her home cracked down into her skull. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. 

Was it her skull? Was her skull the one breaking apart and being smashed in?

The pregnant lady was unconscious on the floor, hair spread on the tile with blood. She was in pain. They both were in pain. 

Yes, it was definitely her skull.

Her hands were in her hair. In front of her eyes, defending from the man. He'd swung at her. 

Throbbing. Her eyes hurt. Everything was red. Blood on her hands— in her eyes? 

He hit her. Had he started it? Had he let her in the house? No, not even to talk to her about her own home. How obnoxiously rude. 

Out the door, a foot was held, connected to the now keeled over man. Poor guy, his hair was being messed up from his head dragging on the pavement. 

She dragged the body behind her, lugging, pushing, and falling over to get the body in the bed of a truck. 

The car drifted past the local police station. She paid no attention to it and carried on with... something. The motions she'd made, the events that have occurred within the last hour, haven't really caught up with her yet. Had she done this? Was she doing this? Had it been done before?

When she'd risen from her sleep, from... had she been in hell? This notion only comforted whatever part of a soul she had left, and she didn't stop to contemplate the obviously unimportant idea. 

Hell had left a mark on her after all.


	4. Act i, Scene iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s just... a KILLAH quEeN. No seriously, why is she like this??? I wrote her a while ago and never expected it to be this dark  
> As always, comment anything that I need warnings for

Dragging the body from the bed of the truck, she didn't know how she'd arrived at a lake. Humming and dawdling, she fumbled and fell as the body caught on a root.

What a day. She lay for a second to admire the sky from her fallen point on the brush. Few to no clouds, mild. Nice weather for a stroll.

Somewhere in the time between getting up, dusting off, and stepping into three feet of water, the dead guy was decapitated.

Oh, did she do that?

She looked at her hands, shaking. She had a machete. Did she even own one? Where did she get it? Well, as it dripped blood onto her jeans, she decided to wipe it off before setting it down on the bank.

The lake was home to many things, and now another. He was getting a new home, and she was helping! Oh, how delightful. How nice she was for doing so.

She waded in, pushed him out into the water, and pulled him out further into the depths. The murky lake bottom swirled and sifted between her toes. Water rose up to her chest before she decided the distance good enough.

Now, where was that head?

Mental damage visible to all, both the head and the killer left the premises of the lake.

The truck passed the cemetery where everything started and shot down Main Street. The recently moved soil lay as still as the dead around it, proof of something unbidden.

The now murderous woman, who was currently cruising around to get back to her home, had only initially stepped into the cemetery to visit a grave. A simple task of grievance followed by unwanted and utterly corrupt doings of a buried man.

After dying, being swallowed up by the earth, switching places with a soul from somewhere other than here— one could say "a demon from hell", and switching back with that same thing that very morning, she only knew of wanting to go home.

Deep down, a couple of yards further, a bit to the left, and straight on until seeing hellfire, the demon was home after a year of the typical, notorious, and centenary actions for one of his standing.

Planting a seed that spread like bushfire was easy. Easier done if he was the seed himself. Easier done if he was the first murderer in the line of many. One more serial killer meant more death. Fun. Oh, and he caused the disappearance of the said murderer? Quite an exciting unsolved case— and he'd been multiple!

Arriving back at the driveway—now headless, the killer jaunted back to the house, remembering that a lady lay in the kitchen.

Huh. No body, only large pools of blood. A continual loss of said blood meant a blood trail.

Winding the house, and dragging her way to the street, blood started pooling in places where one could expect a pregnant lady to stop and catch her breath. The blood let off the street, towards another house and the injured lady was mercifully found on the backside. 

The machete-wielding killer made her way to the hunched figure, only wanting to help her on the way to her new home. Gasping breaths from the figure stopped, and once again blood was let onto the surrounding surfaces. A wall. The dead leaves on the ground. A tree. 

This headless body was slightly lighter than the previous one.

She carried on with her errands, driving back to where she'd been. 

The rest of the town seemed to crackle with unusual energy. People lived in the neighborhood, and not just the ones just killed. They had cameras and security to protect themselves, and no one would go missing easily. Not often, anyway.

She'd been caught on camera. Of course, she had! It is the era for technology after all. 

Yet... no one had called it in. No one noticed. No one until a different neighbor came home to the dried blood trail dropped through her lawn.

Shock, followed by a brief want to explore where the red trail went, led to dialing 911– as this was an American town and one should doubt any of the other countries' emergency forces would make it in time. 

By this point, our favorite person, the esteemed killer, had rid herself of another head after welcoming the pregnant lady home to her husband. Rolling back into town, she once again found that there needed to be more people living with the others. The more people the merrier. The more bodies that befell the lake the better. 

They all need to go home.


	5. Act i, Scene iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After killing a few people, the lady aims for a teen. A brief mention of a panic attack, but lacking in detail. Please comment any warnings that are needed.

The next person that would be moving into the lake came to her with a sign. Literally. 

She'd stopped, as one is supposed to do at a stop sign, but also parked, exited the truck, and approached the pedestrian. Her intended victim, a teen boy, was waiting at the stop sign. 

Swinging and hitting nothing launched into diving and hurling around to get the teen under duress. 

He moved quickly. She'd move quicker. 

The thin teen dodged out of the way of fists and nails and limbs. He yelled and dropped a backpack at one point. She laughed and threw herself at him again.

He was stronger. She was knocked down. 

Spots of darkness stayed in her sight, the wound on her head worsening with every throbbing moment. 

He was denying her help, the help she so desperately wanted to give! Why push her away when she only wanted to help him get to a home that actually loved him? She'd been a teen before, a new home would have been the most desirable thing during that time! Who'd want to stay where you're not wanted?

Another blast to the skull via backpack, the lady was left on the corner of the street as he ran like hell was out to get him. It kinda was, she'd come from there. The bag was slung onto his back. 

Hands gripping the ties of his bag, the teen ran with the item thudding against his back with his strides. The scrapes from nails, the adrenaline hit, and the starting development of bruises along his torso decidedly made his brain believe he was sick. 

His stomach lurched and he fell in the lot before the police station. Tears welled up in his eyes and he threw up. 

Arms, hands, and voices to "breathe, breathe, breathe-" and in and out his lungs filled and deflated. He was guided into the station.

A moment or two passed, the breathing became easier, yet his tongue tasted vile. He talked, slowly, asking for water, receiving a glass, and taking it with a hand that gripped a blanket. A shock-blanket, to be exact.

What a thing to be in shock about! He had nearly been murdered and was battered in the process. 

An hour at the least or the most had passed. He didn't know, at the current time he was trying to keep calm. 

Officers gathered with few near the boy, for the fact he was having a panic attack, and waited to ask of the attack and attacker. 

They got the information right as soon as another wrongdoing is called in. 

The next obvious move, after taking details of what this attempted murderer looked like, was to start searching with car patrols, notifying the community with the least amount of panic, and contacting the poor teen's parents. 

The police cars drove off, different groups assigned to different areas, covering more ground. The nearly find her.

Our favorite person in the town, the very caring and erratic murderer, escaped narrowly. Abandoning the lovely truck, she hooked up a small chevy, taking the main road in an attempt to hide in plain sight. She wasn't really hiding, but that is the excuse the more human part of her soul gave. How much of a human was she anymore?

Her next move comes in the form of what the police and detective force think is her second victim, the first being assaulting a teen and now the second being murder. This, of course, is quite wrong as there are two other bodies in a lake.

A dark-haired policewoman called it in at half-past six, a body on the side of the road next to a donut shop. A donut maker questioned and the scene thoroughly checked, our now very slacking murderer was called in as a copycat killer.

She was called in as a copycat killer to a very recent, perhaps familiar, serial killer. 

You see, there appeared the first murderer a long line of many exactly a year prior. One could guess, could assume, could connect the very apparent dots, that the serial killer was the demon who planted the seed for this wave of murder. Now it grew.

The "seed" of murder was planted, nurtured, and grown by the demon who sowed it. It continued growing by the trail of death that our current female murderer followed.

He'd popped out of nowhere, was seen by the police as uncannily resembling a dead man, and killed, decapitated, and sank bodies in the lake. 'The headless sailor' trailed the headlines for weeks, nicknamed by children and trolling young adults, as it had included decapitation, but they were nowhere near an ocean or a sea. They had a lake, which the 'headless sailor' conveniently took advantage of. 

The lead detective was not dumb, not foolish by any means other than normal human flaws, and sent an investigation to this one strong lead.

This strong lead was no doubt a part of her downfall. Another was the lacking pace of death she'd gained after her first two victims. 

She was slacking. Her hands drummed on the steering wheel, her eyes stared at the murder scene she had left, and the dirt infested shirt she wore had a problematic splattering of blood. She was too close and too far away for anyone to suspect. After all, she'd done this murder two hours ago. Why would she hang around? 

Does anyone know the mind of a serial killer? Does the serial killer understand themself? What was the difference between mortality and morality in one's mind after both are wiped away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a teen escapes her clutches... what does this mean??? (Or am I just paving roads that go nowhere?)


	6. Act i, Scene v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tries to kill more people, but what can you do with a bludgeoned head? (Her head did hurt, didn’t it) Dark themes and more death, please comment any warnings I may need to add

She was angry. No other emotions moved her other than rage and brief moments of anxiety. She was twitchy and fierce, and nothing other than abysmal, bad, bad, bad. She wanted to know, why, why, why they were no longer going home! They rejected the idea of becoming part of a family, of a different home. They rejected her. They rejected her from her home. 

Now, her heart scrambled, eyes searching for a way to get out, not evading but not looking for danger. She hadn't attacked anyone for a couple of hours. Too long. Next. Next. WHO'D BE NEXT?

They were catching up. The police were hopeful, they got a glimpse of her leaving another body. This one was an older lady, just beheaded and abandoned closer to the lake than that of the previous victim. 

The killer was trying harder to get this right. She needed to get them all home. So, closer and closer to the water was good, better, but not good enough.

People took the lead of the lake, and the perimeter was watched. Why couldn't they understand? Why was everyone blocking her way home?

Calm, silent, and still, the lake and the killer carried bodies. Moving and flowing through the traffic of the heavily guarded town eventually caught up with her. 

Mental damage is serious. She'd gained quite a nice migraine from this morning, and the boy had smashed her head with a bag full of books. Maybe it had slowed her. Maybe this was her doom. Maybe, after this nice day, she needed a bubble bath. However, mental damage is serious. 

She did not care about her migraine. She did not care that a police car had been following her for the past 20 minutes. She was going to get this body into the lake even if it killed her. 

This lady was a serial killer, and no one knows completely how their brains work. Why do they think the way they do? How does it start? How are serial killers are made? 

This specific case started at a cemetery. It started with grief. It started with a demon killing an innocent woman, carried away in tears. She'd been taken from the plane of the earth, taken from what she knew, what she cared for, and then forced into the mold of corruption. All purity in her heart expunged in the grasps of the source of all pain, all horror, all things abysmal. 

Then, in the path of the one who'd traded her place on earth with his own in hell, she killed in his footsteps.

Driving slowly, calmly— like a perfect citizen really—the corrupted human that might not be human in any sense except what she looked like— scratch that. Her eyes were bloodshot, face twitchy, hands moving in too many ways to look normal, and all in all her appearance was that of a monster in the very basic realm of what a human might look like to... anything other than human. 

The slightest human in existence slammed her foot on the gas. The car rammed through two, maybe three officers, before crunching around a tree. Peeling herself and the body out of the car, she breathlessly took off with the body. All obstacles for human strength no longer bared anything against her. 

To the police, in shock and horror, the killer looked dreadfully close to death yet had the power to carry another dead man to the center of the lake in near to 10 seconds. 

They watched, guns at the ready as she literally crushed and busted up three people in the past 30 seconds, and cornered her.

Why were they cornering her? The killer walked to the edge of the lake, head tilted in utter confusion. She had taken back what wasn't rightfully other people's possessions! She gave people a home! What was wrong with her intent? 

She once again barreled forward. They gunned her down. 

The body empty of a soul once again, it drifted back to where it rose from. Hell. The case was solved, other than the disappearance of the first killer, and everything cleared up in this town.

But in another town, another life rose up from a grave just how this very situation began. 

They were caught on camera this time.

How the demon loved to start fires. How much it loved to plant a seed of death. He had been the first in a long line of murderers. And as he welcomed souls home, to hell, those who followed in the wave of death he started also welcomed people to their new home.

As this next killer fell, another potential serial killer rose from the grave.

In the end, all that came of this was a smattering of deaths by the hand of a demon corrupted soul. They died, she died, and the seed of murder grew.


End file.
